


Strangers

by literato



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), References to Depression, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Needs a Hug, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Feels, ah shit here we go again, fUCK ME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literato/pseuds/literato
Summary: "He's already back, Barnes." Sam says, leaning against the doorwayBucky unclenches his fist. The pieces of the phone drop on the carpet, "Is he?""Yeah." Sam answers confidently, "You were the first one to know, man."orwhere Bucky struggles to cope with the loss of his bestfriend.(Post-Avengers: Endgame)





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Self-harm; Bucky gets injured badly and he willingly makes it worse. If you're uncomfortable, please stop reading after the line, "but the woods sounds so quiet right now" and continue to the next line break. It's nothing too graphic though. 
> 
> Anyway, this takes place after the events of Endgame, where Steve returns.

Steve had nearly decked Sam when he suggested to bring him in with a wheelchair. He could still walk, he argued, but he'd never admit he now had brittle knees.

Today is the day Steve moves back in his old Brooklyn apartment-- the one that had been there when he couldn't stand how full the tower feels sometimes, and the one he spent five years in when everyone was gone. Sam had drove him, and Bucky sat on the passenger seat, discreetly glancing over his shoulder every now and then where Steve sat.

It's hard, thinking of the first time he'd seen Steve like… that. Sam had been the first one to approach, because he had more balls than Bucky. Bucky had watched from the back, unable to move, even as the freaking Hulk is urging him forward. Bucky couldn't. It's a few days of Steve staying with Sam while they get the apartment sorted out, and Bucky ran to his old shitty one and never came out to see him, until today.

When they get there, Steve is the first one to enter, a smile in his face as he takes in the ambiance of his home. He looks back at them, "Good to be back." His voice has become weak, like his throat is clawing to get a word out. Gone is the deep authority that oozes naturally from him.

"We've already cleaned it, stocked the groceries." Sam offers, welcoming himself, "So you can damn well say we expect a little housewarming." Bucky follows him in, but he keeps his hands in his pockets and his feet flat on the floor.

Steve chuckles. His eyes dart to Bucky, "You were always the cook between the two of us, Buck." Damn right. Bucky remembers all those mornings and evenings both in the 40s and the 2000s. Breakfasts and dinners in the middle of running from HYDRA.

Bucky's breath hitches, and a fleeting thought, _Is that you, Stevie?_ before he says, "Already making your orders, pal?"

Steve lets out a laugh, a surprised one, He nods towards the kitchen, "Come on."

Bucky's heart is hammering in his chest. He looks towards Sam and very nearly pulls him off the couch, "Come on, man." Sam shoots him a glare but he comes anyway.

In the end, it's Sam who helps Steve cook and Bucky sits on the table, watching them, but his eyes would stay glued to Steve somehow. It's still hard to swallow. All this time, whenever he wakes up to Steve, he always have a different _him_  somehow. Waking up in a cot in Zola's lab to Steve's big face and helmet. Waking up in Wakanda to Steve's fully bearded cheeks and his hair slicked back. And now. Seeing him in this… irreversible change. Steve is wearing fucking plaid and a brown jacket over it, some khakis and soft shoes. He has a little hunch on his back, and his arms move slower than before. Steve shrugs off the jacket and rolls the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. Bucky sees loose pale skin, age marks. There are still muscles stretching his clothes, but nothing that could compare to the strength of knocking a guy out with one punch, or even carrying the shield. Bucky remembers those wrapping around him.

Bucky looks away.

They settle in the dining room, eating and making jokes like before. Sam once got up from the table to take a call, and Bucky stuffs his mouth full.

"How are you, Buck?" Steve asks him. He's looking over, wrinkles all over his eyes and face and -- happy. He looks happy.

Bucky clears his throat, "I'm good. Adjusting still." Five years of nothingness should be well, nothing compared to seventy, but not when he has to wake up to a future like this.

Steve smiles, and he looks for a few moments before, "I've missed you, buddy." He looks like he really does. His smile has a hint of sadness in it, and his eyes seem to be drinking everything since he got back.

 _Buddy_ , Bucky wants to spit out that word. There's nothing _buddy_  about promises and hugs that last too long and late nights and sacrifices. And if Bucky thought of way back then, kisses and moans and sex. Nothing buddy about that, _buddy_.

Bucky had used that word while saying goodbye, and he saw relief in Steve's eyes.

"Me too." Bucky replies lamely, looking away. He shifts the subject quickly, "You're gonna be okay here?"

Steve has leaned back in his chair, and he looks around the room, sighing contentedly, "Yeah. Nothing like before, but…" He looks down, and Bucky assumes he's looking at his wedding ring, "…it's good to be back."

Bucky's voice scratches when he asks, "How was she?"

Steve smiles, fond at the memory. The look on his eyes reflect on the past life he spent. And for a second, Bucky feels relieved. If he had to let Steve go, then at least one of them had been happy, "Still red. Still feisty. Still… her."

It's vague, but it's enough for Bucky.

He almost chokes out, "Kids?"

"No." Steve shakes his head, "Couldn't." Otherwise he wouldn't be back here.

Something have shifted in the room, and Bucky fights to fix it, "I'm glad you're here, Steve."

Steve smiles at him from across the table.

 

  
\---

 

 

"Where are you going to stay, man?" Sam asks. They just left Steve's building and started on the short walk to his car. It's dark out already. Steve had gave them _l_ _eftovers_ , Jesus, and he thought his grandpa had risen from the dead.

 _I had a home_ , Bucky wants to say as he glances back towards Steve's building. Bucky says, "I should find another place to stay."

"Consider it done." Sam pats his shoulder. They reach the car and Bucky walks around it to the passenger seat, "I have an extra room. You can stay there."

"You won't like my mess, Wilson."

"And I don't like you, but here we are." Sam gives him a pointed look.

Bucky sighs, "God, you're an asshole." And he gets into the car.

 

 

\---

 

  
Bucky has settled into Sam's house a day later. He slowly adjusts as time passes, waking up to Sam cooking breakfast and cooking dinner for both of them as a silent 'thank you'. He lounges in the shower longer than necessary because the hot water never runs out unlike in his old place. He adjusts, but he doesn't think he's moving on properly.

He hops out of his window during midnights. Sam is off to meetings with SHIELD, getting used to heaving the shield on his shoulders. He's been busy these past couple of days, and Bucky is proud. Bucky takes the chance to walk through the dark streets, before he's stopping in front of Steve's apartment building. He walks to the side, climbing up the fire escape and keeping his toes light.

He rests against the wall next to Steve's window. He looks over. It would've been hard to see through the dark, but he sees Steve perfectly. The man is on one side of the bed, and on the other side are a bunch of pillows lined up together. He has one arm swung over one, face buried in it. Bucky presses his hand on the window, itching to slide it up. He's done this numerous times before when he's struggling to find himself. He'd go here and everything looks and feels familiar again. But now, he's staring at a stranger.

He goes back to Sam's, chest feeling heavier than ever. Sam isn't back yet, which he's grateful for. He pulls out his phone to contact Hulk. Bruce. He should really start calling him Bruce.

"Hello?" Bruce answers.

"Hi." Bucky says, "This is… James Barnes."

"Ah, Bucky." Bruce says with a light tone, "Can't say I expected this call." The first time they met was the day Steve left. Bucky was surprised to see the large green guy, but the glasses lessened the intimidation, as well as the soft voice and kind smile.

"I just… I have a few questions." Bucky closes his eyes. His arm starts whirring as he clenches and unclenches his fist. "About the… the thing. The-- quantum realm."

It's quiet, and then, "Alright. Of course, yeah- ask away."

"It's--" Bucky takes a deep breath, "Okay, I've read a few so I'm not completely um.. dumb about it--"

"What do you want to ask, Bucky?" Bruce says, more softly this time, and it's like he knew.

"Hypothetically, if-- if we want to try--" Bucky stutters, and his hands are shaking. "Say if I want to go back in time, try a few things y'know for a.. for a time-- would it be possible-- to be back and… and possibly retain the um-- me?"

"Okay, let me rephrase that." Bruce says gently, "You're asking if you can go back in time, stay there for let's say 50, 60 years, and be back in the present? Like no time passed at all?" He asks it, no malice or ridicule in his tone. But to Bucky's ears, it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

He clears his throat, "I-I'm sorry, I'll go." He hangs up, and he very nearly throws the phone until he realizes it's not his wall, and it's not his place. He keeps the phone in his left hand, and it crushes between his fingers anyway.

He feels like a fucking idiot. What would he expect? To throw Steve back into the portal and hope for the best? Hope for the bearded man who spent time with him in Wakanda? Hope for the man who fought against the government for his freedom? Or hope for that skinny little dumbass he loved so much? No matter who comes out, he doesn't know if it would be the same Steve he loved.

Bucky looks over. Sam is leaning against the doorway. He's still in his suit, but his wings and shield are nowhere to be seen; they were peobably propped by the couch. "He's already back, Barnes." Sam says, leaning against the doorway

Bucky unclenches his fist. The pieces of the phone drop on the carpet, "Is he?"

"Yeah." Sam answers confidently, "You were the first one to know, man."

And what a tragedy that was. That split second he looked over at that bench, saw a small figure and thought, 'Stevie?', only for a completely different man to take over.

Bucky hangs his head, looks down on the perfectly carpeted floor. He laces his fingers between his knees, shakes his head. He feels a dip on the mattress and Sam's hand on his shoulder, "It's-- It's hard seeing him like that. Two weeks ago, he could outrun me while I drive a car. Now, he's…" He sighs.

Bucky doesn't answer.

"It isn't him." Sam says, and he sounds convinced by that now, "The Steve we know. The Steve you grew up with, but… that doesn't have to be bad, right? You miss him, and that's fine. But don't deny him. He came back. And truth be told, he doesn't have much time left, so let's make it good for him."

Bucky nods. The truth hurts.

 

 

\---

 

 

Make it good for him, Sam says. Bucky stands in front of the mirror with a scissor, snips all his locks and brushes his hair up when he's done. Make it good for him. Bucky dresses in some jeans and a clean shirt with a jacket. Make it good for him. He buys some new pencils and colors and a new sketchpad.

Bucky goes to his apartment in the middle of the afternoon. When Steve opens the door, he lights up. It's been almost a month since they last saw each other, "Buck." He says, stepping aside to let Bucky in.

"Sam's out on a mission." Bucky blurts out.

"Yeah, I bet he is." Steve says. His eyes dart all over Bucky's face, "You cut your hair."

Bucky's hand brushes at it. His neck and ears feel so goddamn naked now, "Well, ran out of hair ties." He hands out the bag containing the pencils and more art stuff, "Figured you bore yourself to death here."

Steve takes them with a laugh. He looks at it for a second, before he tugs Bucky's arm and pulls him in a hug. Bucky tenses. Jesus, Steve is smaller than him again. Bucky pats him in the back before he pulls away. Steve doesn't seem to notice, still all smiley and giddy.

"Stay." He says, "I'm gonna cook us up some snacks." He bumps his hip against Bucky's as he passes.

Bucky lets out a breath. He sits down on the couch, letting himself look around. On the coffee table, there is Steve's old sketchbook and a pencil on top of it. It's a work in progress, but Bucky can see the details of his own face. He grabs it, looks at the vague lines of the initial draft, and to the harder lines of his jaw, nose, lips, and eyes.

"All this time that we've spent together, you'd think I'd be sick of your face." Steve says from the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder, grinning.

"It's creepy you got me all memorized." Bucky jokes lightly, but his chest tightens at that.

"Can't help it." Steve chuckles. A sizzle sounds from the kitchen.

Bucky puts the sketchbook down, beside a journal. The journal is closed, but the front page is lifted slightly, something in the middle preventing it to close. Bucky looks up at Steve then back at the journal. He reaches, sticks his fingers gently through the small gap and flips the notebook open.

A compass falls out. Bucky doesn't have to look at it further to know what it really is.

"I uh…" Steve says from the doorway, a spatula in hand, "I wrote my days down, when I went back."

Bucky nods. The journal is thick. It's Steve's whole life. Or at least, the life he chose.

"You can read it if you want." Steve offers.

Bucky chuckles. Hell no, "It's yours, Steve." He stands, begins to make his way to the wide window in the living room. He crosses his arms to keep them from going to his face.

"Buck." Steve says. He's being careful now, "It's… I would want you to read it. It's gonna make me feel like you've been there with me."

Bucky's hands clenches into fists. Irritation washes over him in a quick wave. He takes a deep breath, and he turns to him, "And what about what _I_  would feel? Huh, Steve?" He forces his voice to stay level and clear of emotion, but it's impossible when it's Steve, "You want me to read the life you had that had nothing to do with me? You chose to live through it without me and now… you want me to make you feel like I was there?" He shakes his head, "Fuck you, Steve."

"Bucky--"

"No, you _left_ , remember?" Bucky snaps at him, "And I know, okay? I know you don't owe me anything, and that you were done. But--" He releases a breath, it turns out shaky, "You made me feel like I was worth all this, Steve. You fought for me; what was I supposed to think? It was you and me, pal, and you _left_."

"You are!" Steve tells him. He looks pained and so, so guilty, "I'm sorry I left, but-- but what do you want me to do now, Buck? Erase the past seventy years? It's done, Bucky. I'm sorry, but I don't know what else you want me to do--"

"I want you here longer." Bucky says, voice wavering, "I have missed so much of you, Steve, ever since I fell off that train. _Everything_  was ripped away from me but all I ever wanted back was you! But you're so hung up on--"

Time stills, and suddenly Steve's in front of him, "Hung up on what? On _Peggy_? Is this what it's really about?" Steve picks up the compass, " You're upset because I went back to Peggy and not you--"

"God, Steve--" Bucky steps back at the blow, "I'm not that low. This isn't even about her-- Jesus Christ, fuck you, Steve. I was gonna say you were hung up on your old life--" He curses under his breath, "You want me to get mad at her? For what? Stealing my ' _man_ '? We've got something when we were young, Steve, but we're past that a long time ago. _I_ was past that the moment I became a cold-blooded killer, but you want to bring that up? Alright." Bucky doesn't stop himself, his arm reaching up to push at Steve's chest. Steve stumbles, "I have loved you, Steve Rogers, before I even knew what love means, when I _forgot_  what it means, and after I remembered." The compass dangles from Steve's hand and Bucky grabs it, showing it to him, "I never had anything against Carter and you know it. But now you're here and I don't even know you anymore!" He grips the compass in his hand and he hurls it at the wall.

It shatters.

Silence fills the room. Their heavy breathing mix together, and Bucky steps back. He's got his face wet with tears, and he hates himself for it. He looks at Steve. He's looking at the compass, but he doesn't attack Bucky for it. He wouldn't, Bucky thinks; he's got a whole lifetime with her to replace the damned thing.

For what it's worth, Bucky says, "I was never mad about you going back to her. I was mad because you left, and you came back too late." He steps back again, shakes his head, "I'm sorry, Steve."

He walks out the door, and he doesn't stop running.

 

  
\---

 

 

He returns to Sam's a week later. He's been out, righting wrongs and turning bad guys inside out. It clears his mind, but now he's just so, so tired.

He goes to his room, and he has his second six-pack that he tosses on the bed. He opens a can immediately, downing it as he slips off his dirty trousers and into some sweatpants. He slips out his window, sitting on the fire escape just outside.

He smokes, and he drinks, and for the first time he's disappointed in the fact that these things couldn't even affect him in the slightest, no matter how hard he tried.

Sam finds him there, in a tank top, smoking and drinking. If Steve was with him, he'd probably say it was a familiar sight, especially with the short hair. Sam sits on the window sill.

Bucky knows he's there, "This is… my eighth." He says, emptying the can and crushing it. He tosses it to the pile next to him, "And I can't get drunk." He looks up at Sam, "You back from your mission, Cap?"

"Obviously." Sam climbs into the fire escape with him, leans against the railing across from him, "Steve called me."

"Figured that." Bucky cracks open a beer.

"He's really worried." Sam supplies. He looks like he is, too. Bucky doesn't want to out that burden on him.

Bucjy just tosses his head back as he drinks. It burns his throat, but he doesn't stop drinking. Maybe, just maybe, if he continues he'll forget about reality for a while. That doesn't seem like the case.

He sighs, hits his head back against the concrete, "He sat me down, y'know, the night before he left." He starts. Sam lets him talk, "He told me everything-- getting the stones back, meetin' Carter. I let him run his goddamn mouth, stayed quiet. He had it all planned out from start to finish. And… and now I'm starting to think what if I said something? Anything."

"Why didn't you?" Sam asks.

Bucky meets his eyes, a miserable smile on his lips, "He told me his plan, and I wasn't in it." He crushes the cigarette with his hand, mindful of Sam's presence. He takes his last can and cracks it open. As he takes a swig, he slumps against the wall, "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam's eyebrows lift, "What for?"

"Bein' so selfish." Bucky sighs deeply, "He left you, too. And I'm acting like I'm the only one."

"We're different, Barnes." Sam says, "We're Steve's friends, and he left. I accepted that when he came back and you're still taking it all in; ain't nothin' wrong with that."

Bucky looks away. He just wishes it stopped hurting so much. Sam pushes off the railing and joins him on the floor, bumping their shoulders together.

 

\---

 

  
It doesn't get better. He provides himself lots of distractions by slipping on some cargo pants, a few layers of shirts and a jacket, arming himself to the teeth, and going out to hunt on bad guys. He does it for a few nights in a span of three weeks. Sam doesn't notice a thing, since he's still so busy working with SHIELD. At this moment, SHIELD wants nothing to do with Bucky, and that's going well for him.

Bucky is on his motorcycle. It's late at night and he's shadowing a small beat up cargo truck going up in Route 79. The road is a neat highway, but at this hour barely anyone passes by. He removes a pistol from his holster and aims, all while his other hand keeps the motorcycle running steady.

He fires, and the wheel of the truck flattens. The vehicle skitters to the side and comes to a halt. Almost instantly the driver and two other people jump out from the truck, guns ready. They spot Bucky instantly.

Bucky's motorcycle screeches to a stop. He stands to his feet and lets it drop behind him. He strides, shortening the distance between him and the armed goons. Whimpers are heard from inside the truck. Bucky unstraps two knives, keeping one in each fist.

The goons fire, and Bucky's quick to shield with his arm. The bullets tear the fabric of his jacket, and the metal gleams underneathe.

"Shit." One of them curses, "Is that--"

Bucky throws the knife with practiced ease, before he turns and throws the other one. The two drops their guns, falling on their asses as they baby their bleeding hands. Bucky bends their guns for good measure.

The last guy was quick to abandon the fight and has rushed to the driver's seat. Bucky runs, and he gets a grip just as the guy hits the accelerator. Bucky grunts and pulls back with all his strength, digs his heels into the concrete. Smoke fills the area and tires screech, but the truck doesn't move an inch. Bucky starts to feel the pain pinching at his shoulder, and he lets a hand go to tear the door off. He knocks out the guy with a punch and the truck comes to a stop.

The women inside the truck are eerily silent. Bucky grabs his gun and makes his way to the back of the truck where only a flap separates him and the victims. He reaches a hand to pull it open when someone from the inside reveals a long blade before aiming. The tip catches the whole length of Bucky's forearm and it slides from his elbow to his wrist, the skin separating to let out a massive gush of blood.

Flashes of pain takes Bucky off-guard for a moment, and he's quick to reach the knife with his metal hand. It makes a clink as they connect and Bucky tugs the idiot towards him before headbutting him. The guy goes sprawling on the road, unconscious.

"Hey." Bucky greets roughly through the mask, vision going blurry. The women inside the truck are shit-scared, cowering and shielding themselves. They are naked and so obviously abused, and Bucky needs to get them somewhere safe, "You're all alright."

Instinct screams at him and he turns. He's instantly pinned to the bed of the truck, his back arching. It's one of the guy he shot in the hand, and he's holding a taser. He doesn't hesitate to push it into Bucky's skull and Bucky feels it all the way to his brain, the feeling too familiar to him. He manages to wrap his metal hand on the guy's throat, and then a loud bang sounds throughout the area.

He releases jagged breaths as he tries to compose himself. He looks up. One of the women had grabbed his gun and shot the guy herself.

Bucky says, "Thanks."

He stumbles back to his feet, looking at the state of his arm. It's still bleeding freely, and the throb in his brain is still fucking up his vision. He'd gladly drive himself home even at this state, but this time, he's got company.

He thumbs through a phone, an old battered one he's supposed to use to contact the police. He uses it for just that, and he's promised half an hour before they come. He tosses the phone away after crushing it in his fist.

He goes back to the women in the truck, his arm clutched to his chest, "Help is coming. If they ask, you don't know me." He says with finality. They nod, and Bucky gets on his motorcycle. He doesn't drive too far, just enough to be hidden but still get a view on the scene until the cops arrive. When they do, Bucky drives away.

The drive is torture. He could only use his metal hand. He could feel his flesh stitching back into place but even that is too slow to keep him awake. If he drives fast enough, he could make it back to Sam's, but the woods sound so quiet right now.

Bucky leaves the motorcycle on the side of the road, and he vaults over the railing before sitting on his ass under a tree. He removes his mask. He takes a deep breath, and it actually feels like one of his last. His arm is throbbing plenty, and he wants to see it-- even when the dried blood sticks to the fabric of his sleeve, he tugs forcefully and the wound starts bleeding again. He actually feels the cool air in his bone. He doesn't bother to look at it then.

He rests his head back against the tree. It's a pathetic way to die, but he'd be glad to go.

  
\---

 

"Shit." Bucky curses. He opens his eyes and regrets it instantly. The lights already made his headache worse. He tries again, and when he recognizes his surroundings, he closes his eyes again and curses under his breath. Fucking hell.

"Buck? Bucky, it's me."

Bucky knows that voice, from the 1910s all the way to 2020s.

"Steve." He replies, and he opens his eyes. He didn't know what he expected, but Steve is there, old and weak and wearing a heavy coat. He grunts as he pushes himself up to sit. He looks down on his arm, seeing it in a thick cast, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes, "Didn't need a cast."

Steve frowns, "The hell you do. They found you on the side of the road, Bucky. You were sittin' on a puddle of blood from /your arm/. They were lucky someone saw your motorcycle and called SHIELD because they recognized you."

"Ugh, Jesus." Bucky rolls his eyes this time, "I'm here now, aren't I? Unfortunately, it takes a lot more for a supersoldier to get off this world."

Steve remains quiet. He's looking at Bucky, blue eyes pinched in the most pained expression Bucky's ever seen him in. He knows. And it takes him a few moments to speak, "Why'd you do it?"

"I gotta do shit with my free time, Steve, and those women need help--"

"They knew it was you." Steve said. "They figured out after seeing that it was _your arm_ blood in one of the knives in the scene."

"Yeah, well." Bucky shrugs helplessly. He looks down on his cast, and he starts to scratch it open when his metal fingers.

"Stop that." Steve stand and grabs his wrist. It was a weak hold. Bucky could easily pull away and he'd break Steve's wrist, "Why'd you do it?"

Bucky twists his arm away, "Can you blame me if I wanted to have a good night out on my own--"

"You left yourself bleeding in the middle of the woods when we perfectly know how well you patched up Dugan when he got stabbed in the fucking leg--"

" _I_ _wanted to save him--_ "

"And you don't wanna save yourself?" Steve's voice breaks. Bucky glares at him, "Buck, if this is about what happened--"

"Don't flatter yourself-"

" _If this is about what happened_ \--" Steve says more firmly, and he sags suddenly, shoulders slumping. He sits back down like he's exhausted, and he grabs Bucky's hand, cool metal against warm skin. He presses his forehead into it. He releases a shaky breath, "I never meant for it to be this way."

Bucky looks away from Steve's form, and he blinks up at the ceiling. He manages to stop the tears before they come. He looks back down at Steve. Steve's crying, shoulders shaking and lips trembling. Bucky never expected it to be this way, either.

"Steve." He says, more gently this time. He gathers more air, and then tries again, "Steve, you gotta go."

Steve's hold only gets tighter that Bucky actually feels it, before he lets go and pulls back, wiping his eyes. He looks down, elbows on his parted knees. Without looking at Bucky, he nods and stands.

There aren't any windows in his room, and the moment the door shuts, Bucky crumbles.

 

  
\---

 

 

Bucky checks the stitches on his arms. He's finally got a nurse to remove the annoying cast off of him. The sight had been horrendous. A long messy line started from the inside of his elbow, down to the side of his forearm and the back of his palm. Bucky remembered how deep it was. now it's almost healed.

It's been a few hours since Steve left, and Bucky's on his own again. A doctor checked on him just now. Bucky found out he was in SHIELD's medical facility. He demanded to be discharged, already plucking off the wires strapped on him. It leads to now, when he's about to raise hell when suddenly Sam comes in, still in his suit and shield strapped to his back.

"Hey, man." He greets. He nods at the doctor, and she exits the room. He takes a look at Bucky, "You look like shit."

Bucky sits back down, "I've been told." The machine is beeping too loudly for his head to take, and he pushes it off the table it's in. It clatters to the floor.

Sam startles, "Fu-- Jesus, Barnes."

"Get me out of here." Bucky sighs and he stands. He stumbles a bit. That taser really did a number on him. He waves off Sam's hands before moving past him and into the hallway. The agents in the hall turn to look at him until Sam comes into view and shoos off their stares.

He hasn't been in this building before, and he gets Sam to lead him to the exit. Eventually, they get into the elevator. Bucky slumps agains the wall, crossing his arms and resting a palm on his forehead, "I'm guessing they told you?"

"Not much." Sam says, "What happened?"

Bucky shrugs, and he turns to face the glass.

"You were out every night."

Bucky nearly groans, "And why is that anyone's business? I target assholes. It's not like i'm gonna go on a murder spree."

"That's not what I meant." Sam tells him firmly, "You go out on these… missions alone, with no backup, and no one to know where you fuck off to."

"You sayin' I can't handle myself?"

"I'm saying you're not in the right state to fight." Sam says. The elevators open just as he says, "You've got too much on your mind, Bucky."

His words enter Bucky's left ear and comes out of the right, and he pays no mind to them as he strolls out of the elevator and into the lobby. He instantly recognizes the old man sitting on one of the chairs.

"Jesus Christ." Bucky curses as he speeds up his steps. The only exit is coincidentally the nearest to where Steve is sitting. Standing now, and making his way to Bucky.

"Bucky--"

"You gonna make a scene, Steve?" Bucky taunts before lowering his voice to a hiss, "I thought I told you to leave."

"Really, Buck?" Steve says, almost pleads, "Come on, please. Let's just talk."

"Steve." Sam catches up, "Listen, you two, this really isn't the place."

"Then don't fucking follow me." Bucky snaps and he walks past Steve and through the doors.

 

 

\---

 

 

Bucky doesn't go to Sam's, but he does go straight to the roof of the apartment building. There, he sits, paces, stands, thinks, screams. He almost pulls apart his stitches, because they're still there and it'll be so easy, but--

Sam lands on the roof. He's on his gear still, and Bucky hates his wings at the moment. Bucky's sitting on the edge, doubled over with his head clutched between his palms. When he looks up, his eyes are full of tears.

"It doesn't stop, Sam." Bucky says, stares at the rows of buildings and feeling so so numb to it all.

Sam approaches him, "I'm gonna sit beside you. That alright?"

Bucky hesitates, but eventualy he nods. Sam sits, and he places a hand on his shoulder. Bucky keeps his hands to his face, "Why is this so fucking hard? I just wanna accept it and move on."

Sam wraps an arm around him, shakes him a little, "You'll get there, Barnes. Might take a while, but you will."

Bucky takes a deep breath, "I keep telling myself that I'm not the only one here who's suffering, so why the hell--"

"Don't you continue that." Sam cuts him off. He takes his arm off and nudges Bucky until he's looking over, "Now, look here." He begins with a deep breath, "If you ask me, it wasn't his best decision." He confesses, "He left and he came back with his days being counted down. And truth be told, I was hurt. Because how dare he come back with only little time for us to work with? Any day now, he won't wake up. I was hurt, and then I was _scared_. Steve's been my friend for a long time. Seeing him like that, it's not the easiest sight." He sighs, "Now, you two. I don't know much but I know enough. What you two had was… really special, you know that?"

Bucky sighs, "Sam, don't--"

"I ain't mad. I know we share the best friend title." Sam teases lightly, "But you two, it isn't easy to let go of something like that. But then Steve did. And now you're angry and you're hurt, and that's alright, man. What you're doing… it's not healthy, but it happens. Every person deals with pain differently." He places his hand back to Bucky's shoulder, "So don't invalidate how you cope with yours."

Bucky's looking down on the floor, clasped hands on his lips. He closes his eyes and feels his tears fall.

He thought he could fix it, when Steve came back. He thought he could somehow mold himself to become Steve's best friend again, but who was he kidding? He was a distant memory now. It didn't matter that he spent his whole life with Steve. Steve didn't _choose_ that. He couldn't amount to anyone who Steve chose to spent his life with. And then with that thought, he turned angry, because it was so fucking unfair and why did he have to stay for that long? Why would he spend years of saving Bucky from absolutely everyone? Wasn't he enough? Or Jesus, Sam? Bucky couldn't comprehend how Steve took one look at him when he returned and be gone the next second.

Now he was just so _exhausted_  of everything. He wants to run, to escape, but the only thing holding him back now is this man beside him. And, he wouldn't admit it, but Steve, too. Bucky wants to take one look at him and not feel anger or hatred. But God, why is it so hard?

Sam doesn't say anything except offer him his arm. Bucky leans towards him.

 

 

\---

 

 

Sam had been the mature one, was the first to go to Steve's (around a day after the rooftop thing) while Bucky waits around in the apartment. Sam came back looking like he could use some water with all the crying, and Bucky pulled him into a hug to let him cry some more.

Bucky took his time. He isn't ready to go out yet. He needs to calm down and just be with himself. He takes long hours in the rooftop. And while that is a dangerous place for him to go right now, he doesn't feel the need to jump over the edge. Or at least, he'll stick an arm out if that happens.

He hasn't talked to nor seen Steve since the 'accident'. Sometimes he'd look at Sam and feel a bit of envy at how brave he is for forgiving so easily. Sam talked to Steve on the phone often. When he does, Bucky usually takes that as a sign to leave the room. But God, all this avoiding makes him miss Steve. Eventually, when Sam answers Steve calls, Bucky lingers. At least until Sam mentions him or even as much as looks over to his direction.

All this takes days to weeks to a month. Bucky doesn't know if he's getting better or worse but he does eat, sleep, and take showers and takes the time to go to the gym or run with Sam or go to the shooting range. Some days, they weren't as good; he'd lock himself in his room and jump to the fire escape with beer and cigarettes. He'd woken up from a nightmare and felt like he was back on the stone, and then he felt like he _wanted_  to go back to the stone. He doesn't know how this recovery thing works, but most times he'd want to wake up more than not.

One morning on a run with Sam, the man suddenly put a hand out to stop him mid-jog. In the middle of Central Park, Sam asks, "Y'know, the shooting ranges at SHIELD is _much_  bigger than the one you go to."

Bucky chuckles, "That how you recruit agents?"

"Do you feel like you want to be recruited?"

"Eh, I have nothing else to do."

"Cool."

"Cool."

Sam snorts and punches his shoulder, ("Wrong shoulder." "Ah, fuck you.") before taking off. Bucky reaches him after three seconds.

So yeah, when Bucky goes back to SHIELD, Sam actually leads him to one of the shooting ranges than straight to Maria Hill like what he was expecting. Sam told him, "Hey, man, I really didn't mean to like, pressure you into anything--" and Bucky shoved a Glock into his chest and let him beat his ass for one round.

 

 

\---

 

 

Bucky takes too long, and suddenly they're getting an alert that Steve was rushed to a hospital near Brooklyn. Bucky had been on a mission briefing with Sam, and the moment they step out of the room, another agent is rushing over to them to deliver the news.

Bucky had felt his stomach plummet, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He shot a hand out to grip the doorway, and accidentally it was his metal hand and now there are pieces of glass on the floor and fuck this is it, isn't it--

"Bucky!" Sam calls out, gripping his shoulders, "Barnes, hey, you're alright." He tells him firmly, "Steve is okay, you know that. We got a hold of him so they're transferring him here."

Bucky takes a deep breath, releasing it shakily, "Jesus."

Sam looks a him sympathetically, "I know. He's alright." He pulls him into a quick hug before pulls away, "How about you change first, yeah? Wouldn't want to greet Steve for the first time in months smelling like shit and death."

Bucky wants to laugh, but he nods. He doesn't let Sam coddle him more, just drags his feet to the showers.

He places his hands on the shower wall after he gets naked. The water is washing over him, and it provides a calming blanket.

This is it, isn't it? Out of the few things that jumped at and genuinely scared him, this is the worst. It feels him with dread and literally steals the flow of his lungs and the beat of his heart. He feels familiar with the feeling, because right from the start this is what he feels like when it comes to Steve; complete and utter fear. He had done everything he could to keep Steve away from danger, from punching his bullies to cooking him the healthiest meals to watching his six and twelve and nine to standing by him at every battle. Sometimes he allowed himself to think about what would happen if Steve really died, and the only answer he could think of was to follow him.

Bucky steadies his breath. It takes a while, and when he opens his eyes both his hands have created a dent on the tile.

Soon, Steve arrives. He was on a gurney and being wheeled into the medical quarters. Bucky follows and follows until he was told to stay out of the way. He stands on the other side of the wide glass, watching every move the doctors make as they check on Steve.

Someone stands beside him, "According to the hospital he was sent to, he was found unconscious in his own home."

"What was it?" Bucky asks, voice hoarse. He watches the doctors attach a bunch of wires to Steve. Jesus, the needle almost goes through his arm.

"We don't know yet." That's a first, "Just be glad he's still breathing."

"I am." Bucky says, "Where have you been?"

"Places." Natasha answers. She has her arms crossed and hair braided into one fishtail. She faces him then, and her voice softens, "He'll be alright." She grips his shoulder and he falls into her arms, placing his forehead against her shoulder.

"I'm so fucking scared, Nat." Bucky hates how his voice breaks.

He feels her swallow, but she doesn't say anything.

 

 

\---

 

 

It was getting harder and harder to wake up every day, but as soon as Steve opens his eyes, he first sees Bucky. He's leaning against the farthest wall near the door. On the chair beside Steve's bed is Sam, and Natasha at the foot. Steve flexes his fingers, and he sighs like he's exhausted.

This… weakness. Even after so long, he's still getting used to it. He's been so unnaturally strong for most of his life, and getting this weakness back-- it overwhelms him sometimes. Even opening his eyes took extra effort.

Steve settles into his pillow, "Guess this is it?" He doesn't want to see their faces and instead focuses on the thick blanket covering his lap. He's met with silence, and suddenly a sniffle is heard. He looks up. Natasha is quickly wiping her cheek.

"I don't think you realize," Sam says, trying to lighten the mood, "But it's actually difficult to get rid of you."

Steve doesn't point out Natasha's tears, so he looks at Sam, "I really am, aren't I?" He says, teases. But even that gets beaten by his curiosity. The last thing he remembers, he was in his kitchen. Suddenly, he felt pain, pain, pain and then he was gone, "What happened?"

"Heart attack." Natasha answers. She looks at him with he eyes red and teary, but her voice is still firm, "The neighbor took you to a local hospital at exactly 8:32 in the evening, and thankfully even with the serum, they managed to get you back." She says. _Get me back? Did I die?_  "It's been twenty eight hours since you got here. They've ran some tests, and apparently the serum is still running in your veins. Only your body is too weak now to catch up to it."

Steve sighs, "That's ironic." He shakes his head and looks up at her, "I missed you, Nat. You didn't visit."

"You think leaving a couple hundred orphans was easy?"

"Not at all, ma'am." Steve imagines it; Natasha, the best spy in the world, surrounded by children. It's surprising, but Steve is happy for her anyway. He tries to sit up. It feels awkward talking to his friends while he's lying down, so he gets his arms under him and pushes himself up. He's out of breath by the time Sam helps him up to a sitting position.

"You take it easy." Sam says like an order. He fluffs a pillow to prop against Steve's back. Steve can't help but feel the rush of pride for his best friend, "If you're nice, you'll probably get to go home tomorrow."

Steve rolls his eyes with a laugh, "You got it, Cap."

Sam, though, looks genuinely surprised by this, "Oh, really? No 'Steve strong, Steve indestructible' caveman crap?"

"Enjoy it while it lasts." Steve smiles. His eyes dart to Bucky, whose watching the interaction without so much as a twitch, "Besides, I want to spend more time with you guys."

"Well, not yet. It's only 2 in the morning. " Sam stands, "I'm gonna get you somethin' to eat. I hope you're prepared for tasteless hospital food." He gestures for Natasha to come with him, and she wordlessly pats Steve's feet before heading out the door with Sam following behind.

That leaves Steve and Bucky.

"Hey." Steve says. His voice have softened a ton, "Come sit with me."

Bucky looks up, finally, and Steve's heart breaks at the sight of tears. Bucky's eyes are red and irritated like he's been rubbing them all over. His short hair is worn down and swooping in different places. He's hunched over that it looks almost uncomfortable.

But he makes no move.

Steve reaches a hand to him, "If you don't, I'll come to you."

Bucky huffs, his first reaction, before his feet carry him to the chair Sam had sat on. He sits, and he keeps his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. Steve looks at him.

He's seen Bucky vulnerable for a lot of times, too many to count, but seeing him like this makes Steve want to dig out his own grave. He couldn't. Not yet. He's set to make this right before God even decides how to pluck him out of this universe.

God, he's done Bucky so wrong. Not only him, but also Sam, Natasha, and the other he considered his friends, But this. Steve had been so blind to his pain, spent seventy years without even _realizing._  There's really nothing he could do about it now, but the least he can do right now is keep his fucking heart beating to have his best guy forgive him.

Steve reaches over and grabs Bucky's hand, squeezing. He waits for Bucky's eyes to meet him and-- they're they are. They're filled with so much emotions that Steve is drowning in them; guilt, relief, panic, fear. Steve feels his chest tighten, "I'm so sorry, Buck."

Buckt blinks and ducks his head. Tears drop and splatter the fabric of his jeans around his thighs. He nods.

Steve blinks and suddenly his eyes are wet, too, "You were right-- I did leave. No matter how I saw it-- even if it was for my happiness, or getting to Peggy, or reliving my old life. Either way, it was still me leaving and _I'm sorry, Buck."_

Bucky's hand covers his eyes, flesh palm digging. He accidentally lets out a sob as he says, "Fuck, Steve."

"I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner." Steve says, and he feels it all the way to his weak bones. He imagines getting back on time, maybe ten years earlier, and maybe this wouldn't have to happen. Maybe.

Bucky sniffles and lets out a loud, frustrated breath. He looks up at Steve. He's leaned forward now, cheek leaning on his own palm and his elbow on his thigh, and he's got his metal hand stretched to hold Steve's.

Steve reaches with his free hand and wraps it around Bucky's flesh arm. He takes a look at it. The scar of the massive cut he got months before was long gone. The sight of Bucky bleeding within an inch of his life because of one goddamn cut has haunted Steve. But Bucky's okay. He's okay now.

"You take care of yourself." Steve tells him, wants to get it through his brain, "No matter how hard your days are, no matter how painful, you live your life, Barnes. Get a job, do a hobby, get married, have kids, all of it. My days are over, Buck, we both know that." His hands tremble at that, "But you, you keep your decades and spend it however the _hell_ you want to. You--" Steve swallows a lump in his throat, "You gotta let me see you grow old, pal. We both wanted that, didn't we?" 

Bucky clenches his eyes tight, and more tears fall. He pulls one hand away and covers his face. His shoulders wrack with sobs. He's trying so hard to keep himself together. Steve pushes away the blanket and scoots over the edge of the bed. He pulls Bucky to him. Bucky soaks his shoulder with tears.

It takes them moments, and Steve holds onto those moments.

"Don't you say goodbye to me yet, Rogers." Bucky threatens, voice thick, "Not until you tell me what trouble you did the past seventy years."

It startles a laugh out of Steve, and he pulls back, "You got it, pal."

 

 

\---

 

 

"Time of death: 3:08 am." The doctors salute to Steve Rogers' lifeless body. Three days later, his ashes are scattered all over the Arctic by the hands of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson.

 

 

\---

 

  
They clear out Steve's apartment. Bucky stands in the middle of it all as they transfer Steve's things. To where? Anywhere but the damn media or Smithsonian. Wherever that was, he had Natasha handle it.

Steve was supposedly buried right in the center of Brooklyn Memorial Cemetery. Thousands have visited, and left flowers, candles, and letters to his grave. Steve's body was never there. It didn't deserve to be seen by the public when Steve have spent most of his life trying to avoid it. He died in his sleep, shortly after promising Bucky he'd tell everything from cover to cover. Bucky woke up to Steve flatlining.

It's been two weeks after that. Bucky never got his story.

So he stands here in front of the apartment, and as the agents clear out. He finds the journal tucked in his bedsider drawer. It's old, the pages beginning to tear from its seams.

Bucky takes a seat, and begins to read.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi !!! Please tell me what you think. 
> 
> Also, I really want to have a little sambucky here but i don't want to make it like a "fix-it" ship for stevebucky so all solid friendship here :((
> 
> Alternate titles include:  
> \- Bucky Barnes and the Five Stages of Moving On
> 
> Follow me on my twitter !! @buchananbornes


End file.
